


Burden of the Soul

by Okadiah



Series: A Day of Recovery [6]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Dodge Ball, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Twilight of the Apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okadiah/pseuds/Okadiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Talk. Ezra knew it was coming all day, and it was happening now. Kanan was at his door and all the pain and guilt he’d been trying to ignore since Malachor was back. And he knew there was no way his Master was going to let him out of this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burden of the Soul

Anger burned low, simmering at the bottom of Ezra’s heart as he stoically held the Sith holocron between his hands in meditation. He was pleased, however, when it finally began to unlock.

Think like a Sith. That’s all he had to do to open it, and he didn’t feel that bad about it, if he was being honest. All he had to do was _think_ like one of _them_. But that didn’t mean he had to _be_ a Sith. _Thinking_ like one and _being_ one were two different things, and he knew which was more dangerous.

Idly Ezra gazed at the scarlet light that seeped from the dark holocron, and he wondered what he’d do next. It had been a question he’d been playing with all day. Ever since he’d managed to open the small pyramid yesterday, he hadn’t actually done anything with it. He had plenty of questions to ask and explore, and dozens of possibilities were now available to him, but … he hesitated. Once again, it was one thing to know he could open it, but something deep within him knew that to actively use it … that was something else. It would _mean_ something else, like he was going back on everything Kanan had taught him.

But he wasn’t. He would be finding information, and that was all. It would be nothing more than that. Just intel, so that he and the Rebellion would be better prepared to face the threat of the Sith.

And yet, he still hesitated.

He could feel the holocron call out to him. It was like a seductive touch, one he wanted to submit to for all the promise and power it wished to bestow upon him. All of the knowledge of the Sith was right there, waiting for him to accept it and use it and he _wanted_ to. After all, one of the Jedi Codes was that there was no ignorance, only information. This was just gathering information. That’s all it would be. It was just making himself more informed and it was a _good thing_ to do this. He was sure that it was, and how could Kanan fault him for that?

And again, he hesitated. If it was the case that even Sith information was a good thing, then why had he not yet told his Master that he’d succeeded in opening the dark holocron?

His anger wavered, replaced with deep doubt, and his meditative focus shattered. Immediately the tantalizing ruby light drew in on itself as the holocron locked shut, and Ezra tossed it to the side of him in agitation before dropping his forehead into his palm. Damn it. Just damn it.

Although he could open it, it wasn’t easy, and it took him a lot of time. Once he’d returned to base with Zeb, he’d opted to skip dinner, and Zeb hadn’t fought him on it. Ezra had been relieved that no one else had been on the _Ghost_ to try and talk him into a meal, especially Kanan. The _Ghost_ was his, for the time being, and in his privacy he’d immediately dropped into meditation. It had taken Ezra an hour to unlock the holocron, a grueling hour, and he sensed that he wouldn’t have enough time to try to open it again before the others came back.

Because he’d lost his focus, he’d lost his chance at gleaning even a little knowledge about the Sith. But what bothered him most was that he wasn’t sure if he was actually displeased at the loss of opportunity, or not. As agitated as he felt … he also felt relieved, and he didn’t know which he felt more strongly. Which he _wanted_ to feel more strongly.

Either way, he’d try again the next chance he got, whenever that would be. Ezra knew he had to be careful. If Zeb caught him opening the Sith holocron, he knew the Lasat wouldn’t be as understanding as he’d been earlier. And that wasn’t even taking into account Kanan. His Master could probably sense the darkness from across the _Ghost_ , and would know the moment Ezra opened it. He was sure. That meant he had to be careful, and clever about this.

It meant secrets and it meant lies.

Ezra breathed to control the rising heat in his heart as he swept the holocron into the drawer beneath his bunk, unwilling to think about the missed opportunity, or how conflicted he was feeling about it. Either way, he shouldn’t have lost his focus. He shouldn’t have let his guilt and his doubt get the better of him. It was his own fault and from now on he’d take Kanan’s insistence on meditative control more seriously.

He had to, if he was going to get stronger, and more powerful in the Force.

He had to, if he was going to stop what happened on Malachor from ever happening again.

In the stillness of the _Ghost_ , Ezra’s brow furrowed as he heard the ramp being lowered, and then the rev of Chopper’s wheels as the astromech boarded. Ezra’s heart froze when he heard the sound of solid footsteps following close behind. Holding his breath, he waited to hear if anymore footsteps would fall after, but it was just silence. Chopper and that single pair of familiar footsteps.

Chopper and Kanan.

The smallest wisp of fear curled in Ezra’s chest at the presence of his Master so near, but he quickly crushed it with a breath. He shouldn’t fear his Master, and besides, Kanan would be able to sense it, and that was the _last_ thing he wanted. Ezra didn’t want to give himself away in the Force. He didn’t want to explain why.

That didn’t mean that as those footsteps drew closer and closer to his door, something deep within him quaked.

Ezra’s heart threatened to burst from his chest as a steady stream of sharp knocks echoed metallically within the walls of his cabin. For a moment all Ezra could do was stare in horror at the door. It was happening, what he’d been trying to avoid all day.

The Talk.

“It’s me.”

Ezra couldn’t stop himself from swallowing past the dry lump that had abruptly grown in his throat, nor the anxious tremble around his heart at the familiar and terrible sound of his Master’s muffled voice. Thoughtlessly his eyes flew across his bunk to make sure that the holocron was in the drawer so Kanan wouldn’t see it … and he almost choked in guilt. It wouldn’t have mattered if the holocron was still sitting square in the palm of his hand. Kanan wouldn’t be able to see it if it was right in front of him.

And that was Ezra’s fault.

That thought strangely numbed him, forcing all of the dark emotions he was feeling down and away. It didn’t banish them, Ezra could still feel them waiting like unspoken threats, but for now … he felt very little. It was good, if they were going to talk.

He hoped it would last. He knew it wouldn’t.

“Can I come in?” Kanan asked gently after Ezra failed to respond, and realizing that he needed to _do something_ , he took a deep breath and wet his lips.

“Yeah. Come in.” Ezra couldn’t help but grimace at the sound of his voice, raspy and tight, and he just _knew_ Kanan had heard it. To maintain the numbness enveloping his soul, he mentally repeated the first Code over and over to keep him calm. To prevent his heart from betraying his panic at coming face to face with his Master.

The door hissed open and Kanan walked in slowly, cautiously, but alone and with intention. Chopper had vanished down the hall and the ease with which Kanan had stepped over the bottom lip of the door with care bespoke knowledge and awareness. The numbness around Ezra’s heart rocked as he stared.

“You can see?” he blurted out in surprise and hope before he heard himself and quickly clarified, “I mean, you’re using your Force sense? It’s working?”

“Weakly,” Kanan admitted, but with a small smile as he leaned against the wall across from Ezra, arms crossed as he turned his blindfolded gaze around the cabin. “I can make you out, but it’s like an outline of you. No real details, but I know you’re there. I know the dimensions of the room, but other things, smaller or faster things, are harder.” His Master smiled more widely at him before saying. “But it’s something. In time this won’t even be a problem.”

Ezra wished he felt as excited as Kanan did. He was happy for him and his success, there was no denying it, but … well, why was Kanan even in this position in the first place?

The guilt was back and he looked away from his Master and the crisp strip of cloth across his eyes. He wondered how Kanan could stand to be in the same room with him. _He_ could barely stand to be in the same room with _himself_.

As if sensing Ezra’s mood, Kanan’s smile slipped and slowly took on the concerned look Ezra’d know anywhere, even without the aid of Kanan’s expressive blue eyes. He could feel it in the Force. The concern. The worry. The worry for _him_. Kanan wasn’t hiding it from him, and it was clear what direction the conversation was about to turn. Ezra felt like a thick slug was in his throat, and wished it would gag him hard enough to leave him unconscious so he wouldn’t have to deal with this. He wished the numbness would return.

It didn’t, and Kanan’s voice slipped through the air, concerned and pointed no matter how much Ezra wished it wasn’t.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day, Ezra.”

Ezra didn’t say anything, just looked away as his eyes fell on his drawer and the dark secret it held, still calling to him with its siren song and seductive light. What could he say? It was obvious that was _exactly_ what he’d been doing all day, and everyone knew it. Kanan was just stating facts, but _why_?

Kanan frowned before turning his head away once the silence had grown long, and Ezra panicked. Suddenly words burst out of him at the sharp thought that he’d disappointed Kanan _again_ , and he just … he just couldn’t. Not again. Not so soon.

“I figured you’d want a break from me,” he muttered lowly as he leaned forward on his bunk, hands gripping the sides of his mattress until his fingers turned pale. “After everything that happened yesterday … I thought it was a good idea to leave you alone.”

Technically Ezra wasn’t lying. So what if it also meant that Kanan would leave him alone too? So what if it meant that he didn’t have to see the evidence of his mistakes _right there_ in crisp white? He could smell the bacta from here and it made his stomach roll with nausea. He’d _done_ that. And he couldn’t get away from it with Kanan right there, and it was a _strong_ reason he had for avoiding him.

But not the strongest. And of course, it seemed as if Kanan knew it.

“That’s not the full truth, Ezra.” The firm tone Kanan always took when he was acting the part of ‘Master’ was clear in his voice, and Ezra pursed his lips hard because he knew he wasn’t going to be able to weasel his way out of this one, like he’d managed to with Sabine and Zeb.

The truth was coming out, like it or not. And he did not like it.

Angrily, he figured he might as well get this over with quickly, like ripping a bandage off a wound. Maybe then Kanan would leave him alone.

As much as he wished that would be the case, he didn’t think he’d be so lucky.

“I feel guilty about what happened yesterday,” Ezra replied with sharp heat lining his voice. “I feel guilty about _all_ of it. About Maul, about Ahsoka.” He paused, the heat in his voice slipping a little, and Ezra’s eyes fell to the floor, unable to look at Kanan. “I feel guilty about _you_. You and … and your eyes. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.” As an afterthought, he mercilessly added as a form of self-flagellation, “That, and to spare you from having to deal with a failure of a Padawan.”

“You’re not a failure, Ezra,” Kanan retorted quickly, and Ezra couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Typical Kanan.

“Would you tell me if I was?”

“Maybe not using the term ‘failure’, but even if you were a failure, that would be _my_ failure, not yours.”

“That didn’t answer the question, Kanan,” Ezra pointed out ruthlessly, now vindicated in his self-characterization, and he watched as Kanan grew still and quiet, the line of his lips pressed tight, his brow furrowed in what Ezra knew to be controlled anger.

“You want a direct answer? Yes. Yes, Ezra, I would tell you, and I’m telling you now that you’re not. If there’s a problem, Ezra, it’s not that you’re a failure. It’s that you’re strong in the Force, and you’re still learning. You’re still adjusting.”

Something dark sat heavy on Ezra’s chest and made him see red. “Adjusting,” he muttered lowly. “Kanan, I know you might not believe it, but I train _endlessly_. I think I’ve had plenty of time to _adjust_ to the Force.”

“You’ve learned what takes most Jedi at least fifteen years to learn in _two_ ,” Kanan rounded firmly, almost sharply, and that strange edge made Ezra listen hard, even though he didn’t want to. “You got the crash course, Ezra, and believe it or not, you have _excelled_. Your learning curb was ridiculous, and you took to the Force faster than I’d ever have imagined!”

Ezra clenched his fists in his lap as the Force slammed into him with Kanan’s conviction, his truth, and Ezra knew beyond a doubt that his Master wasn’t lying.

“You’re only growing stronger in your abilities, stronger every day, and is it any real wonder that I’m not only amazed, but a little worried by it as well? Worried for you? You’re growing so fast in your abilities that I’m concerned about your control and your maturity with them. They’re still so new to you, Ezra, you don’t fully know their pitfalls and dangers yet. You aren’t familiar enough with the Force to really know how they affect your thoughts and your actions, as well as those around you.”

“Then I’m a failure at that then,” Ezra pointed out with dark pride, sick that it was true, but proud at the same time that he was right about being a failure about _something_.

“No, Ezra,” Kanan said immovably enough to break through Ezra’s pity party. “You’re not a failure at any of it. Just inexperienced and a bit reckless. That’s all. That’s not failure. Ezra, that’s _growth_.”

Silence split the air between them like a chasm, and even though Kanan was blind, it still felt as if they were staring each other down, locked in a battle of wills. But as stubborn as Ezra could be, in the enclosed space of his cabin with Kanan right there, that white bandage _right there_ … he was the first to look away, angry and hating himself for it.

“Even if it is _growth_ ,” he hissed lowly, “I’m still guilty of failing you. Of abandoning you. I still wasn’t there when you needed me most.”

“Ezra, while we were on Malachor you saved me _twice_. You had my back when the Inquisitors came, and if not for you I might have died or gotten injured long before we even made it to the temple. How is that you failing me?”

The Padawan shrugged off those instances as if they were nothing but flecks of dirt, inconsequential evidence. “But the one time you _needed_ me, I wasn’t there. I was at the top of the temple trying to get _knowledge_ while Maul was burning your eyes out!”

Kanan flinched, and Ezra snapped his jaw shut fast enough to make his teeth click. He’d been yelling, and at some point he’d stood so that he could yell directly at his Master as he threw his blunt and cruel words at Kanan like a blade. And Kanan had let him.

Disgusted with himself, he dropped back onto his bunk and pressed his face into his hands, wishing a black hole would open up below him and consume him, and every awful thing about him.

The silence came again, but this time it didn’t feel like a distance between him and Kanan. It didn’t feel like anything at all. Just … empty waiting, void of emotion for the moment. Nothing more than a potential moment waiting on his shoulders to be born. The backs of his eyes burned with tears he was trying desperately to hold back, and it was a while before he trusted himself to speak again.

“All I’m trying to say, Kanan, is that I have a good reason to feel guilty. Maybe you’re right and I’m just … inexperienced and growing, or I’m not mature enough yet in the Force to know better. But there’s no denying that I … I didn’t listen and I didn’t choose you. And you paid for my choice.”

Kanan’s voice was quiet, but heart wrenchingly calm and sure. “You couldn’t have known it would happen, and it’s not something you should feel guilty about. No one can predict the future, and it’s as much my fault that this happened as it is anyone’s.”

“No, Kanan,” Ezra interrupted, surprising himself, and maybe even Kanan, with the softness of his voice. Usually when pushed into a corner like this, he would erupt with shouting and anger like he had a moment ago, but this time … this time, no. “I don’t think you’re right. I think I have every reason to feel guilty.”

Kanan’s lips pulled down into a frown, but instead of arguing against him like Ezra half thought he might, he simply pulled out a chair from the small desk by the wall and sat down in it in front of him. Ezra watched cautiously, but once his Master was settled and only a few feet separated them, Kanan asked, “Could you tell me why you should feel guilty?”

Ezra was unnerved because where he’d expected Kanan to demand an answer from him … he had instead asked for it. Requested would be a better word. There had been no hard tone in his voice. There had been no force. It had been a calm tone, completely noncombative, and Ezra had an abrupt vision of Master Depa Billaba in his mind.

In Kanan’s holocron, there were a handful of lessons recorded which featured Master Billaba. He’d watched all of them to understand the woman who’d trained his Master, and Ezra was struck because Kanan had just _sounded_ like Master Billaba had. Endlessly calm. Endlessly understanding. Endlessly patient. It was so clear in that moment that Kanan had been her Padawan, and it was so sudden and so like and unlike Kanan that Ezra was already spilling his beans before he’d even realized he’d opened his mouth.

“You trusted me, Kanan. Everyone did. And I _really_ thought I knew what was going on. I really thought that … that I knew what Maul was doing. What he was doing to me.” Ezra’s voice shook and he paused for a long moment to take a shaky breath, but he continued. He’d started and he needed to finish. “You were right, Kanan, and I didn’t listen. Maul was feeding me lies, everything I wanted to hear, and I just … I listened. I didn’t even argue with him and we both know I _always_ argue. I wasn’t cautious. I wasn’t thinking.”

Unable to stop from looking timidly up at his blind Master, he said in a voice that was almost a whisper, “Kanan, I wasn’t there for you. If I’d been there, Maul wouldn’t have attacked you because he would still have been trying to win me over. How can I not feel guilty when I _know_ the truth about that, and the truth of my own thoughts and actions?”

Kanan didn’t say anything for a long moment while he thought, and Ezra couldn’t help but feel nervous about it. What if … what if after this, Kanan didn’t want to be his Master anymore? What if he didn’t think that Ezra could be a Jedi anymore?

What if Kanan finally saw that Ezra was _right_?

When Kanan finally did move, it was to lean forward in his seat, elbows on thighs, hands clasped and lowered between his legs as his head sank down as if in thought.

“You know,” Kanan said softly, almost as if he were speaking to the dead. “I know the guilt you’re feeling. Like you’ve failed the one person there is no way in the Force that you could ever fail. Believe it or not … I know it.”

Ezra’s brow furrowed in confusion. Kanan knew his guilt? How could he know how it felt to let your Master down so badly that it _changed_ things? Kanan didn’t fail like that. What could Kanan possibly have done that was as bad as this?

But he could feel the truth of the statement in the Force, and he could feel it. Kanan’s guilt. It was an old thing, a warn thing, weakened by many years of time … but it _was_ the same.

“I had a Master too, remember?” Kanan sighed. “You aren’t the only one who’s failed a Master.”

Understanding and surprise slammed into Ezra.

“Are … Are you talking about Master Billaba?” Ezra asked slowly, both cautious and excited about anything of Kanan’s past. It was so rare that he ever spoke about it, that the prospect of his Master opening up, even a little, made his heart race. Of course Kanan was talking about Master Billaba.

But how had he failed her? Whenever Kanan spoke of her, it was with great admiration and respect. If there had ever been any guilt on Kanan’s part, it either hadn’t been there, or he’d hidden it better than Ezra could ever hope to hide his.

“Yes. I’m talking about Master Billaba,” Kanan agreed, turning his head up for a moment. “You know that I only achieved the rank of Padawan before Order 66.”

Ezra nodded slowly to make sure that Kanan caught the motion. How could he forget, after the Grand Inquisitor and the temple on Lothal? Kanan echoed the nod almost mindlessly, his dark hair shining in the dim light of the cabin. His Master opened his mouth to say something, to continue in some way, but Ezra watched with growing concern as he closed it again, then repeated the motion a second time as if he couldn’t figure out what to say. As if the words, which usually came so easily to his Master, escaped him.

“Kanan —?”

“I was on mission with her the night of Order 66,” Kanan abruptly said, cutting Ezra off decisively. “Back in those days, during the Clone Wars … I was with her all the time. Me, her, and our clones … we were the best team.” Kanan flagged, and Ezra watched as his Master struggled through this. He wondered how many times Kanan had told this story to someone else? He wondered if even _Hera_ knew what Kanan was telling him now.

Somehow … he didn’t think so.

His Master swallowed so hard that Ezra heard it from across the small distance between them. “The night … that final night, our clones were given Order 66 and they betrayed us. After months spent fighting and protecting each other, they tried to kill us as if we had betrayed _them_. Like _we_ were the enemy.” Kanan’s voice was tighter than Ezra had ever heard before. Like this hurt. Like this was hard, and all Ezra could do was bear witness. “My Master … she knew we were running out of time to escape and she ordered me to run.”

Ezra could almost see it in his mind’s eye. A younger Kanan fighting beside his Master against a flurry of blaster fire and anonymous white suits, time running against them as more clones arrived to bring them down.

“You didn’t listen, did you?” Ezra guessed, his voice surprisingly tight as well. Kanan was Kanan. He would have disobeyed an order like that for anyone, especially his Master, he was sure. But then Kanan sighed before smiling darkly, and Ezra wasn’t as sure anymore.

“No, Ezra. I did what Master Billaba told me. I ran.” Kanan paused, swallowing hard again, but it didn’t seem to help given that his voice sounded rough and raspy as he continued. “I left her behind.”

Icy dread swept through Ezra as he guessed again at what happened next, and was nauseous with the surety that this time, he was right. Kanan only nodded.

“She died a moment later, protecting me so that I could escape. And I left her there, with our treacherous clones in the dirt, and _ran_. Like a _coward_.” He’d all but spat the last word, and Ezra wondered if there was more, if it got worse than this. “I was her Padawan. I should have been there for her, covered her back and disobeyed her even though it would have resulted in _both_ of our deaths. That’s what I should have done … but I didn’t. She sacrificed herself so that I could escape, but even after all these years it still feels like betrayal.”

Kanan took a deep, shuddering breath, and Ezra found he’d taken one with him, sharing in his Master’s pain. But as Kanan started up again, the hurt seemed to have tempered out, and he was just … quiet. Quiet and real and weathered, like well-used leather. “I get it, though. After years to think about it … she was right.  I am here because of her sacrifice. It was what any Jedi Master would have done for their Padawan. As a Master to you now, I know it more truly than anything, so I understand … but I don’t think I’m ever going to shake the feeling that I abandoned her to die. Even knowing … it’s hard.”

Ezra didn’t know what to say.

“Kanan ….”

Kanan surprised Ezra when he gave him a tired smile, small and filled with old pain. “I know that our situations aren’t the same, Ezra … but I need you to know that the guilt you’re feeling for me and what happened … I know it. And as much as it pains me, as much as I wish I could spare you, and take it from you, I know that you’re probably not going to let it go. I wish that you would, but I know that I haven’t been able to in over fifteen years. How could I expect you to in a day?”

Ezra didn’t say anything. He didn’t think he could, given how tight his throat felt. All he could do was listen, and watch as Kanan pushed off from his chair to take a seat next to him on the bunk’s mattress.

“I know that you’re holding the guilt about what happened on Malachor deep in your heart,” Kanan said with a gentleness that made Ezra’s eyes ruthlessly mist. “I know that it hurts, and it feels like it will never go away. And I won’t lie to you Ezra, it might not. It lessens over time, and you might be able to come to terms with it … but it’s the kind of thing that lingers, like a stain.”

Kanan looked at him, and Ezra was sure that if that white strip of bandage had instead been perfect and blue eyes, they’d have looked on him with so much kindness and hope that Ezra was sure he’d be moved to tears instantly.

“But I want to tell you something that my Master was never able to tell me. Something more than anything that I wish I could have heard, even once.” The Force connection between him and Kanan seemed to grow, and whatever Kanan said next, Ezra knew for certain that it came straight from Kanan’s heart, honest and true and blinding in its intensity. He almost didn’t _want_ to hear it.

But he did. More than anything, he did.

A warm hand slipped along Ezra’s shoulders, firm and _there_ , just as it always had been, and he knew it always would be. “Whether this was your fault or not, Ezra, I forgive you. I know it’s hard to believe. You might not even believe me, but it’s true. And I hope that by knowing that, it will help you do something I have never been able to do, and forgive yourself.”

“But I don’t deserve to, Kanan!” Tears burned down Ezra’s cheeks, hot and pained and so abrupt that it left him reeling. “After everything I’ve done —”

“Come here,” Kanan said gently as strong arms swept around Ezra’s shoulders, and Ezra fell apart for the second time that day at the contact. His emotions were ragged and rough and sad and pained, similar to how they’d felt when he’d lost it with Zeb. But with Kanan it was different. It went deeper, and it hurt more, and all Ezra could do was cling to his Master as his emotions hit him again and again like relentless waves as Kanan’s words echoed in his mind. It seemed to go on and on, and Kanan held him through it all.

Ages later Ezra’s emotions finally seemed to quiet, leaving him spent … but lighter.

Kanan stroked Ezra’s hair and his back, just solid and there, and Ezra’s heart tightened bittersweet at so much care and compassion. No matter how bad Ezra screwed up or made a mess of things, no matter what happened, Kanan was always there, steady as a mountain. Always so sure in Ezra, in ways Ezra could never be about himself.

“I know you feel like you don’t deserve it,” Kanan finally said softly, pulling him away so that they were facing each other. “But I hope one day you’ll believe me when I say that you do.”

Ezra didn’t say anything for or against Kanan’s words. Everything was just too raw to even think about something that big, so he tucked it away in the back of his mind, to mull over later. For now, he simply took a breath and cleaned his eyes and his nose, and felt for the first time all day as if a burden had lifted from his soul. It wasn’t perfect. A deep part of him still clung to the guilt and pain, but for now, with Kanan here and his understanding … well the guilt didn’t feel as if it was going to eat him alive.

“Thank you, Kanan, for telling me about Master Billaba,” he finally said, though his voice shook. “I know it was hard.”

It was Kanan’s turn to remain silent, but Ezra understood. He felt like he really did. Kanan’s account of his past had been something between them, something personal, and Ezra was honored that his Master had shared his pain and his guilt with him. But it stayed here. And that was fine.

For the moment if felt as if he and Kanan were okay, and the relief that brought him was more heartening than he’d realized. They were Master and Padawan, and right now it _felt_ more like they were Master and Padawan again.

And it was a good thing.

Kanan shifted beside him, and Ezra looked up to see his Master give him a crooked smile before he heaved his body up to stand.

“Come on, kid. We’ve got training to do.”

Ezra gave a ghost of a chuckle, but it was something, and he was surprised that no matter how weak it had been … it had been real. “Training? You know, we’re still supposed to have the day off, even if it’s almost over.”

“Yes, training,” Kanan said pointedly as he rolled his shoulders, shaking out his body to loosen his muscles. “No rest for the wicked, Padawan, and I think you’re going to like this training.”

Ezra looked up curiously at Kanan before picking up a small ball that had been tossed into his lap. It fit well in the palm of his hand and was covered in leather, making it somewhat soft to the touch.

What was this for?

“I don’t get it, Kanan.”

His Master grinned. “You’re going to help me train. I need to improve my Force sense, and I’m giving you the opportunity to pay me back for everything I dished out to you on Lothal.”

Realization slammed into Ezra as he looked between the ball and his Master in surprise. Memories of his own training so high up in Lothal’s sky trickled through his mind, and Ezra knew that Kanan wanted him to do the same for him.

Despite the Talk, it made Ezra uneasy. He wanted to, now that he realized what Kanan was getting at. He wanted to help. He wanted to help his Master grow strong again, and yeah. Maybe he _would_ like a little retribution for the hell that had been the beginning of his Jedi training. But what if he screwed up again? What if he accidentally hurt Kanan? He didn’t know if he could live with himself if he did that again.

But it was obvious that Kanan wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer, and that he trusted Ezra. And Ezra … he wanted to be worthy of that trust again. He wanted to _feel_ as if he was worthy of it again, and sensed the only way that was going to happen was if he tested himself with Kanan. If he proved that he wouldn’t hurt Kanan again.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Shouldn’t we wait until your eyes are more healed?” Ezra bounced the ball in his hand a few times, testing its weight. “What if you start bleeding on me? Hera will be angry.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Kanan agreed with an uneasy chuckle. “But I think the anger would be more directed at the fleet’s doctor than you, if I end up needing medical attention. So long as you don’t aim for my face, I think we’ll be fine.”

Ezra once again looked at the ball resting in his hand, then Kanan who stood waiting. He bounced the ball one more time, then with the smallest of smiles he tossed the ball gently at his Master.

He didn’t think he was the only one surprised when it suddenly appeared in Kanan’s hand, an inch from striking his chest.

Ezra blinked at the sudden and unexpected shock of it, but Kanan’s features, what Ezra could make of them, told Ezra that he hadn’t expected it either. The older Jedi lifted the ball in his hand, his head tracking it as if to study it before he also bounced the ball in his palm. It didn’t go up very high, and the hesitancy and tentative nature of the movement translated itself in the uneasy wobble of the ball as it landed. But then a dark eyebrow raised, and a smile edged the corner of Kanan’s lips before he swung his hand back.

“Catch.”

Ezra watched the slow and easy passage of the ball as it traveled through the air towards him, and he had to lean and reach, almost to the point of pulling himself out of his seated position, to catch it before it hit the wall.

“Your aim needs work,” Ezra couldn’t help but tease with a smile.

Kanan grinned. “I meant to do that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

His Master chuckled before he turned towards the door.

“Come on. Help your old Master learn a new trick.”

“You’re not _that_ old,” Ezra countered with a roll of his eyes as he stood to follow Kanan out, but paused once he was on his feet. Before he forgot, Ezra reached under his pillow and withdrew a slim metal stick. He didn’t know how it had gotten there, but when he’d returned with Zeb, it had been a rude thing to slam his head against when he’d laid down. It could extend and collapse at the touch of a button, and its built-in sensor alerted him when the end of it neared something.

“Hey, Kanan. Is this yours? I found it under my pillow when I got back earlier. Did you put it there?” When he’d first noticed the walking stick, he’d wondered if this was a passive-aggressive way Kanan had planned to get Ezra to speak to him, but it hadn’t made sense because that just wasn’t Kanan’s way. It was clear enough by the look Kanan had on his face that he hadn’t known it had been there at all.

Kanan gave Ezra a great sigh before he reached his hand out to take it. “It is, and I didn’t.” Ezra was about to ask how it got under his pillow then, but after a moment Kanan added blandly, “If you ever happen to see Chopper sneaking off with it, tell me. You wouldn’t believe the hell he put me through earlier today.”

For a second Ezra was tempted to ask about it, but figured it was better that he didn’t. Sometimes Chopper just didn’t make sense. Ezra figured it was outdated programming. The droid was going senile.

Feeling better than he had all day, he followed Kanan out of the cabin, but before the door slid shut he let his eyes linger on his drawer, where the Sith holocron waited for him. Although this talk with Kanan had cleared the air a little and made him feel better, that didn’t mean that he would stop trying to use the holocron. Now more than ever, his Master was at his weakest, and the threats of the Empire, the Inquisitors, and Maul were growing. They needed to figure out how to defeat them, and the answers lay within the small red and gold pyramid.

Resolve grew in him. For the Rebellion, he would find an answer. For the _Ghost_ crew, and most of all, for his parents, Ahsoka, and Kanan, he would find a way to bring their enemies down. Bring them _all_ down.

For his family, old and new, he would do whatever it took to find a way to keep them safe, and bring peace to the Galaxy.

And if in the process, he found Maul and got his revenge for everything the old Sith had done, well, that was just icing on the cake. Necessary icing. As a matter of fact, he hoped that the icing would come first.

But for now, he’d let the dark holocron with all of its secrets sit in the dark until it was time, and as the door closed on his cabin, he followed Kanan’s footsteps, ready and determined.


	2. Dodge Ball

“What, Master? Not enjoying the payback — I mean, training?”

Kanan was glaring. Or Ezra knew he _would_ be glaring, and all Ezra could do was smile back in poorly concealed amusement as he Force threw _several_ balls at Kanan, watching the older Jedi practically dance in an effort to miss the projectiles.

This was great, just too great. After all those milk cartons, revenge was _sweet_. He could get used to this sort of training. Oh, Ezra could get used to this sort of training indeed.

But he had to admit, Kanan _was_ getting better, and he was getting better _quickly_. In the beginning of the session, he’d get hit about fifty percent of the times Ezra tossed the ball. But in the last half hour that percentage had decreased rapidly, and Ezra had upped his game as Kanan advanced.

Ezra’s smile turned to one of alarm when one of the balls abruptly changed directions and struck him sharply in the forehead, making him stagger back, his hold on the balls in the air vanishing.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” called Kanan from across the way smugly, arms crossed and standing tall with a smirk on his lips, shadowed by the setting sun. ““I thought you were supposed to be training me, not the other way around. Situational awareness, kid.”

“Situational awareness,” Ezra grumbled as he rubbed the sore spot on his forehead before reaching out carefully and silently with the Force. Situational awareness? Well, perhaps he should test _Kanan_ _’’s_ situational awareness? He was a Jedi, after all, and this was _his_ training.

Seemed fair he get a taste of his own medicine.

The only hiccup in his plan was that when he tried to raise the balls, only half of them lifted. The other half stayed down, and the look on Kanan’s face was telling.

“You start this game of dodge ball, Padawan, and it means war.”

With a flick of his wrist, Ezra pulled the balls he could control quickly to his side, and he lifted his chin and grinned.

“Bring it, old man.”

“Oh-ho! Is that right?” Kanan asked lightly as the balls he owned began to raise around him, ready and waiting. “I’ll try not to go easy on you then.”

“You go easy on me and you won’t have a _chance_ at winning,” Ezra shot back, and with the Force he willed his set of balls forward. He was going to win. He’d go easy though, because Kanan was still blind and still improving and certainly not at one hundred percent yet, but that didn’t mean Ezra couldn’t have a _little_ more fun in his revenge.

Fifteen minutes later, Ezra was staring flabbergast at Kanan and the hoard of balls floating around him like a wall of holy retribution. His Master smirked at him.

“Told you if you started this, it would be war,” Kanan said smugly. “Now, how about we practice evasion tactics?”

Ezra was already moving before the first ball shot his way, and he snorted to himself. And here Kanan said that Ezra’s growth in the Force was astounding. Kanan was attacking him blind and with the Force as if he’d done it every day of his life.

In spite of the turned tables, Ezra smiled.


	3. Normalish

“What’s that sound?”

Sabine hardly looked up at Hera’s question as she continued to tinker with a new color bomb of her own design. When it exploded, it would do so in the form of a starbird, like the one on her breastplate, huge and vibrant and beautiful. That way when it was seen, everyone would know it was the Artist who’d been there and done what she did best with beautiful, glorious explosions.

“The boys are all playing dodge ball. Zeb and Chopper joined Ezra and Kanan a few minutes ago.”

A few soft thumps could he heard through the _Ghost_ as balls hit the side of the ship, and Sabine watched Hera sigh from her reclined position on the couch, datapad in hand.

“It could be worse.”

A great Thump! sounded through the _Ghost’s_ interior as what sounded like a body collided with the ship’s exterior. It was quickly followed by a string of muffled cursing, gruff and loud and threatening, which left no question as to who’d been thrown. Sabine looked over at Hera curiously, lifting an eyebrow in question and Hera simply sighed again, heavier than before, and resolutely kept her eyes trained on her datapad.

“It could still be worse,” Hera muttered to herself as she shook her head, flipping through reports, but Sabine smiled when she saw that Hera’s lips had turned up at the edges with gently contained amusement and relief.

Sabine continued tinkering, just as happy as Hera was that their Jedi had somehow managed to work past the funk that had been lingering between them all day. Everyone had been worried about both of them after Malachor, but it seemed that a day off to rest and recover had done a lot to help everyone heal and move on.

After all, the boys were all acting like clowns again, and both Sabine and Hera were shaking their heads at the immature antics like they usually did. Things were settling again. Maybe it wasn’t perfectly normal, one single day couldn’t fix everything, but for now … well, for now it seemed like everyone had found a way to smile again.

And how could Sabine not smile at that?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this piece/the series! The Day of Recovery is ended, and I'd love to know what you thought. Once again, thank you for reading!


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